


All That Glitters

by ProseApothecary



Category: Crashing (UK TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 21:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProseApothecary/pseuds/ProseApothecary
Summary: Sam sits down in the chair opposite Fred. “I don’t know why you’re being such a baby about this. It can’t be the first time a guy’s used your face as a canvas.”And with that, Fred instantly regrets agreeing to this. But Sam’s dipping the paintbrush into purple, and, lo and behold, it seems like he might actually be focused?





	All That Glitters

“Thank you, again, for doing this,” Fred says as Melody drags the brush across his nose.

He feels bad, asking for favours, but Will had insisted they dress up for Pride and strongly suggested they ask Melody to help, and, well, here he was.

“Tais-toi,” Melody says, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Ton malaise m’empeche de me concentrer.”

Fred has no idea what that means. He helplessly looks over at Sam, standing near the door. Sam shrugs exaggeratedly.

Fred’s not sure why Sam’s here, exactly, except that sometimes Sam sort of follows him around, and it’s one of the more flattering things that’s ever happened to Fred, so Fred sort of lets him.

Melody finishes a stripe of orange and tilts her head. “Parfait.”

“She wants parfait,” Sam translates for Fred. “There’s no parfait here, Melody,” he continues, slowly and loudly.

Melody rolls her eyes. “Ton harceleur est un imbecile,” she says to Fred, as if he understands.

“…Right,” Fred says vaguely.

Melody smiles. She pulls her phone from her pocket as it starts to project 90s rock.

“Merde. It’s Colin. I should get this. He’s-how do you say it? A crumbling little ball of sadness, held together by high-fastening pants and tears.”

Sam grimaces. “Jesus”.

“Right,” says Fred, “of course, you should-”

Melody walks out before he finishes the sentence

“I can do the rest,” Sam says, walking over.

“I don’t think so,” says Fred, cautious.

Sam frowns at him. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to walk around the parade with a dick drawn on my face.”

Sam grins, and Fred is very sure that if Sam wasn’t planning on that before, he definitely is now. But Sam just holds his hands up and says “No dicks. Swear on my grandmother’s life.”

That’s really not a deal Fred wants to bring Sam’s grandmother into. But he’s also not sure if Melody is actually coming back, or if she’s been distracted by her muse.

“Fine.”

Sam sits down in the chair opposite Fred. “I don’t know why you’re being such a baby about this. It can’t be the first time a guy’s used your face as a canvas.”

And with that, Fred instantly regrets agreeing to this. But Sam’s dipping the paintbrush into purple, and, lo and behold, it seems like he might actually be focused?

And suddenly Fred’s regretting this for a whole host of other reasons, namely the fact that Sam is sitting very close, and his eyes are following the movement of the brush, sliding past his lips.

Fred digs his nails into the palms of hands.

Sam washes the brush and dips it into the red, combing back Fred’s fringe with one hand so that he can wind a line of colour around his forehead.

_Cold cabbage soup_, Fred thinks desperately, _his 2nd boyfriend’s petrol-scented cologne. Piers Morgan. The lady on the fifth floor who leaves old socks everywhere. _

“What’s this?”

At the sound of Melody in the doorway, Sam’s hand darts up. He tries to play it off as intentional, but Fred’s pretty sure there wasn’t supposed to be paint in his hairline.

“Your job is really easy,” Sam says to her.

“Your lines are _really_ crooked,” she says.

Sam frowns.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Fred says hurriedly, very unwilling for Sam to start touching his face again.

“It’s not _fine_.” says Sam. “It’s the Sistine Chapel. I’m an artistic prodigy.”

Melody raises an eyebrow at him. “Fred’s the Sistine Chapel?”

Sam frowns.

“How’s Colin?” Fred asks, figuring he should probably intervene in whatever quest they have to annoy each other.

Melody sighs. “He’s fine. He just wanted to show me his begonias.” She sounds sad that he’s not sadder.

“In public?” Sam asks.

Melody narrows her eyes at him. She turns to Fred. “I’ll help fix up this mess,” she says, gesturing to his face.

Sam folds his arms across his chest, looking, possibly, actually upset.

“Um.” says Fred. “I mean, maybe it can stay?”

Melody gives him a pitying look. “Fine. On your face be it.” She heads out.

“Thanks Melody,” Fred calls after her.

“You look _great_.” Sam says. “You’re definitely going to get off with a drag queen.”

“I’m going with Will.”

“There are enough drag queens to go round, Fred.”

Fred shakes his head and bites down on a smile.

Fred does end up posting a few pictures of them with drag queens. Sam’s just going to assume it’s for his benefit.

Although that doesn’t explain why half of them have Will in them.

There’s one just of Fred. He’s been burnished with half a kilo of rainbow glitter somewhere along the way, but he doesn’t look like he minds. He looks happy, and Sam focusses on feeling more glad than envious.

“…Can you stop your hair dripping onto my pillow?”

“Ok,” says Fred, who’s learnt to just pretend to acquiesce to impossible demands.

“And getting glitter all over my bed.”

“I scrubbed it off!”

“Not very well.”

“It’s glitter. It might stick around for a few weeks.”

“You’ve got some...” says Sam, and vaguely gestures to his face.

Fred swipes at it.

“I’ll get it.”

Sam wipes his thumb against Fred’s cheek, and Fred goes quite still and Sam doesn’t really know what to do so he turns away, looking at his hands.

“It’s on _me _now.”

“_Ok_,” says Fred, sounding increasingly frustrated, “should we pause _Dirty Dancing_ so you can decontaminate yourself?”

Sam thinks about the fact that Fred came back here, that Will is currently sleeping alone in a glitter-free bed.

“No. It’s ok.”

Fred turns back to the laptop.

“_Actually_,” Sam says, reaching over to pause the movie. “I was kind of distracted during the first half-hour. Can you tell me what happened?”

Fred shakes his head like he’s trying to look annoyed while a smile presses against his lips.

“There was a lot of dirty dancing,” he says, unpausing the movie.

Sam hopes that’s the full synopsis, because he doesn’t really pay attention to the rest of the movie.

He’s distracted by the glint of glitter on his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> Studying French for 3 years finally paid off in me writing 3 (probably ungrammatical) French lines in a fanfic.


End file.
